Everything You Are
by Beckon
Summary: But she knows that even the strongest among them will reach a point where they are on their knees and unable to get back up… this is not her moment now, but it is his and because of that, she will share it with him.


**A/N: This is one of those ideas that only come to me at two in the morning- no other time, it couldn't possibly reveal itself to me sooner, but then again I suppose that's the appeal of it. I know I've already done several stories based around the whole aftermath of the Goddess battle, but it's honestly one of my favorite scenarios to play with. I tried a different approach this time though.**

His hands are strong.

They grasp tightly to her thin sides for a brief second before they move to finish off their journey.

His fingers curl into her back. The very tips of them are stiff, trying not to harm her as they partly dig into the tight material of her uniform and feel the soft form of her body underneath it. For a moment, they hold that position, pressed so tightly against her spine that she wonders if they were meant to be there in the first place. But slowly, they loosen and she can feel the way they simply seem to settle in a more relaxed pose to avoid any further harm.

And its his chest pushed against her as arms keep themselves tied around her smaller form. She wonders if he's scared… She can feel the rattling of his heart against his chest, against her chest and against her heart. In the back of her mind, she's almost willing to convince herself that she can hear it pounding in rhythm, that she can hear the throbbing pulse of the muscles as they act for more than just the reason to pump blood through his body.

It's a second language.

One she cannot personally understand, but her heart can. Because it's been there before. It's been scared, it's been frightened to the point where it wants to break out and run away but the strength of her ribcage keeps it in it's place. And she wonders as her own fingers move to bury themselves into the loose folds of his shirt, secretly searching out for the warmth of his skin… she wonders if he'll be okay. The world they had once known is now over, it's gone. Everything from this point forward is new, never been touch, completely unseen to the eye…

She wonders what he think, what he feels.

But if his hands are strong, then so is he…

They have shared moments of weakness, moments of tragedy and horror; moments that had churned the pit of her stomach and kept her awake in the middle of the night trying not to wake anyone with her crying. But she was never as quiet as she thought she was, or as quiet as she liked to be. She remembers those shared nights of him holding her or her holding him, wondering and questioning what was going on inside of his head. Wondering what he thought of her at that one moment or what he must've wondered what she was thinking just the same.

And that strong grasp, the one that always clung to her fingers as he entangled his own between the empty spaces, was always there. He worried often that he would leave bruises on porcelain skin, often times apologizing in the dead of the night when her body felt the best against his own.

'_Because a Princess should never bear any marks.'_

Words fell from his lips in forced phrases, hinting so at his disbelief in them. Because he didn't worry for his strength as much as he tried to portray; it was his strength that kept her alive to this point and would be keeping her alive forever more.

'_I'm not a Princess…' _

Her own words moved more fluidly, but they were not without their own stumbles of clumsiness and some minor embarrassment. She knew very little of what was outside of her Crimean home, the Delbray castle off in the back woodlands, isolated and happy. She wasn't used to formalities, she wasn't used to people staring… she wasn't used to talking to strange men, let alone allowing for one to hold her at such a late hour.

But she was nothing and everything around him.

It was those strong hands that saved her in the first place, the ones that carried her to safety after she passed out and the first ones to hold her own when she finally awoke. She remembers the odd feeling of faint callous build up against her soft, untouched hands and she remembers the almost rough contact between them.

And it is that same touch that burrows itself against her back and holds her to him.

And in that moment, nothing has changed.

She is still nothing and yet she is still everything.

Her hands, while maybe more touched, more reformed and defined, feel small against him as she presses to feel the solid form of his body. And she can feel every faint tremble, every small movement that he wishes he could hide from her. Because even if this is a time of happiness, of rejoice, it still brings on a lingering sense of sad bitterness along with it. It is a feeling that can not be avoided and she had once worried that she would be dragged in, pulled under and submerged, suffocating within it. But she knows that even the strongest among them will reach a point where they are on their knees and unable to get back up… this is not her moment now, but it is his and because of that, she will share it with him.

He is still strong but he wishes to prove her stronger.

It becomes a questioning mess.

Is she holding him or is he holding her?

… But is such an answer even necessary?

It doesn't matter. It never has and never will.

His grip tightens once more and she can feel his strength returning for a moment, just long enough to provide a short amount of space between them as he pulls away. She can see the exhaustion in his face; his eyes are tired and halfway dead, his lips pale and slightly stained with blood… but he is okay. Fingers abandon their investigation to find skin beneath his shirt and she moves to brush through his limp bangs, pushing them away for only a few, short moments before she simply holds her place against them.

He is tired and partly weak but she gives a light smile at the fact that he's returned.

"What do you say to a man that has just defeated a Goddess and saved the world once again?"

He humors her and gives into a brief smile to reflect her own, it doesn't radiate like it usually does but it still sets off the butterflies in her stomach.

"Anything…"

She always has trouble speaking from the tip of her tongue when no thoughts had been pushed through first; she was always a careful speaker and remains true to those roots despite all that has happened around her.

"It is a small reward to give, but…" and that moment of hesitation is her mind finally kicking in, desperate to stop her from going overboard, from breaking away from those roots. But time is of the essence and hesitation has clocked in too late. "I love you."

And he smiles once more and that is the smile she was looking for. His sense of exhaustion is gone for a moment and all there is to focus on is his sense of happiness. "There is now a proper world around us to live in… together." the corners of his lips falter slightly, brief and temporary but she is not blind to his emotions or expressions. There is nothing that can been hidden from her.

But she knows already and the need for questioning is not necessary. There is a reason he is so strong now, strong and weak all in one. The weight of the world has been on his shoulders, the weight of a hundred different matters have been crushing him and he has been working on pushing them away one by one. It is the extra weight on his back, the second sword, that has called for his downfall.

He has defeated the man he sought out for three years ago.

His victory was well earned, his sacrifice up to this point has quenched the need for revenge that turned his blood hot and boiling beneath his skin.

She imagines and tells herself that the ending of such victory was not one he was expecting. He is glad for the sword on his back and yet hates it just the same. He remembers the black armor that has wielded it before, he remembers every vicious swing and how heavily it was raining that night. But here, he knows how heavy it is, he knows every detail up close and he can see how his own blood has stained it.

And because of that, it is a treasure and curse all at once.

Her hand moves to press against his jawline and she can see him spiraling back into his exhaustion. Hours upon hours of fighting has cost him most of his energy and she knows what it is like to be driven to the point of collapse on the battlefield; he has more experience in that, but she can relate at the very least and that is good enough for now.

"Sleep for now, Commander. We are guaranteed a tomorrow and it is there that I will wait for you."

And he leaves her spine to support itself as he brings his hands to cup her gentle face, maybe hating the stained, dirtied look of his skin against her own. "Wait for me now, wait for me tomorrow, I will always be there to greet you."


End file.
